


Stormtrooper in Stilettos

by sweet_ladyy



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Car Sex, Curses, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23935171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_ladyy/pseuds/sweet_ladyy
Summary: You and Brian are in a new relationship, and you’ve been teasing him all week, so by the time the weekend hits, Brian decides to try out a few of his kinks on you.
Relationships: Brian May/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	Stormtrooper in Stilettos

Stormtrooper in Stilettos — a Brian May Oneshot

[ ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/9d14e2546438ce59a7aa2ff825b26ce6/tumblr_inline_pmwm9eGSAL1ufkuu0_500.jpg)

**Pairing(s):** Brian May x female reader

**Prompt:** anonymous asked:

> god i love brian may!! and not to be sinful but hes into voyeurism/semi public sex

**Word Count:** ~4.7K (jesus fucking christ)

**Warnings: _SMUT!!! 18+ only!!! Reading past the read more cut of this fictional work will serve as confirmation that you are eighteen or older._** Cursing, mutual masturbation, car sex, public sex, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex.

**Disclaimer** : This is a work of fiction and is not intended to be taken as truth or fact. I do not claim to own Brian May, Queen, or any other affiliated names or fictional events. PLEASE TAKE NOTE THAT PUBLIC SEX, INCLUDING CAR SEX, IS ILLEGAL; this is FICTION and not intended to be replicated. Please, for the love of all that is holy, do not get yourself arrested.

**A/N:** Hey, it’s Blake. If you were looking at my face right now, I’d be hiding it from view. This entire fic is utterly _shameful._ I have no justification and absolutely no excuse for writing this. Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone. Now, time to go confess your sins.

**A/N2:** The included pic of Brian (above) exudes the Dom! energy I envision him giving off ~~in this fic~~ in general. You’re welcome for that visual. (Also, in case you need extra prompting: _take a look at that ungodly hand position.)_

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“How do I look?”

You smirk and twirl your body to give Brian a full 360 of your body. You’re wearing a new gown, a sleek silver number you’d snatched on a whim last weekend at Biba, the posh department store where Freddie’s girlfriend Mary works. It fits you like a glove—or rather, like a second skin. A slit in the skirt accentuates your smooth leg and the stilettos you’ll probably regret wearing later. Maybe it’s all a little too much for a Friday night dinner to celebrate Roger’s birthday. But the restaurant you’re going to is nice enough to constitute a valid reason for formal wear.

And the look of hunger in Brian’s eyes is worth it. He says nothing as he watches you, his legs crossed, his ringed fingers absentmindedly stroking the leather of the armchair he sits in at the corner of your bedroom. A mischievous upward lilt is growing at the corners of his mouth. He needs no words to express what he’s thinking.

Still, you continue to show off your figure for him, turning toward your dresser mirror to adjust your earrings.

“You don’t think it’s too much?” you ask, hoping he doesn’t ignore the way you arch your back as you lean to reach for a simple necklace. “I know it’s just Roger’s birthday dinner—”

“You look perfect,” Brian says. You turn to smile at him. He looks pretty perfect too, in a dark jacket and trousers combination that pairs nicely with a white button-down shirt—which, as usual, is only half-buttoned. You love it when he wears dark colors.

“I’m ready. Shall we go?”

Brian nods and stands. He leads you outside with a delicate hand on the small of your back. It’s odd that he’s restraining himself from touching you more, especially when you know how much he loves you in a dress.

But that look in his eyes… You wonder how long he intends to let the night go by before demanding you to strip it off.

Not a dull day has passed in your budding relationship with Brian May. For a man so calm and collected on the outside, he’s full of surprising twists that always leave you guessing what he’ll be doing next. You’ve only been dating him for a few weeks, and his unpredictability has made every moment exhilarating.

The sex has been constant and unbelievably good. The first time Brian had you, you were blown away by the sheer passion he exuberated in everything he did. From the insistent kisses planted on every inch of your skin, to the fire burning in his gaze as he slid into you for the first time, you knew he was as addicted to you as you were to him. He moaned your name with the same passion in his eyes as when he spoke of the galaxies.

But it is all still so new between you and him. And you can’t help but feel like he’s holding something back.

Brian opens the passenger door to the car to let you in, and then circles to the driver’s side to climb in and start the engine. You check the clock in the dashboard: 7:05 p.m. You and he are going to arrive a little early to Roger’s 7:30 reservation. Which is surprising, seeing as you tend to run late to things when Brian is involved.

It feels strangely tense between you and Brian the whole drive. You make small talk about your day, and he about his. But he’s acting off. You want to look at his face, but his eyes are glued on the road as he talks. Watching his fingers stroke the steering wheel twists your core in the best of ways.

You cross your thighs and squeeze them together tightly, yearning to feel those fingers of his on your skin. All week, you’d been so busy with coursework, and he with late-night recording studio sessions, that you hadn’t had quality time with him in ages. And you missed him—missed him in _that_ way. Your underwear has been soaking wet with anticipation since the weekend had begun.

“Is everything okay?” you ask quietly after a long stretch of silence.

Brian gnaws on the inside of his cheek, looking very much like he’s trying not to say something. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he says finally.

Brian has a lot of moods, you’ve found. But you haven’t known him long enough to figure out what mood this one is. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure. You’re just a little quiet is all.” You reach across the cab and place a tentative hand on his thigh.

The gesture is meant to be reassuring, but a little sound emits from Brian’s mouth that sounds oddly like a growl.

“Y/N,” he says.

“What?” you reply.

“You’re such a fucking tease.”

You’re taken aback, primarily because you can’t decipher the tone of his voice. Is he angry with you? You frown, withdrawing your hand from his leg. His eyes break away from the road to follow the movement of your hand.

“You think I’m a tease?” you say.

Maybe it’s your imagination, but you think you see a small shudder runs down his spine. “You’ve been taunting me all night. All week.”

He isn’t wrong. In the brief encounters you’ve had with Brian this week, you’ve been flirty on purpose, giggly and touchy and suggestive. You wanted to give him something to look forward to for this weekend, for the plans you and he had made to catch up. But was it too much? Is he mad now? Is this about to become your first fight?

“I… I didn’t mean…”

Brian presses his lips into a tight line as he pulls the car into the parking lot of the restaurant. He parks in the shadowed alley around the corner of the building, a good distance away, even though there are ample spots to park closer to the entrance. What little light there is left in the dusk sky is shrouded by the side of the building. Brian cuts the engine. You and he sit in silence for too long.

“You’re mad,” you ask, but it comes out as more of a confused-sounding statement.

You wait for him to confirm it, but instead, Brian swiftly unbuckles his seatbelt and leans over to kiss you.

As his lips find yours, you’re surprised by his roughness. He’s rough to the touch with his unshaven stubble, but he’s also rough with his actions, as one of his hands buries in your hair and the other presses firmly against your neck. His tongue traces your top lip and he lets out a low groan.

It’s suddenly clear; he wants you. You realize you’ve mistaken anger with frustration.

“Get into the backseat,” he murmurs as he breaks away.

“Brian,” you say.

“Do it.” His voice is stern and husky.

You understand now why Brian wanted to get here so early, and you feel even more wetness pool between your thighs as you comply to his request, climbing over the middle storage compartment and onto the leather backseat bench. Brian follows suit, crouching on the ground in front of your seat… But he doesn’t kiss you again.

“You know how I feel about being teased, love?” His eyes rake your body from his vantage point on the car’s floor below you. Two slow, teasing hands grab the floor-length hem of your gown and pull it up your legs, revealing more and more of your legs with each passing second.

“I know exactly what I want from you, and when I want it,” he continues in a dangerous voice. “And when I don’t get it…” He _tsks_.

You gasp at the cool air as Brian hikes your dress up to your thighs, finally revealing your thin panties.

“You’ve been very naughty this week,” he drawls, glaring up at you through lowered eyes.

“Brian,” you murmur, looking around outside out the window. You and he were in a parking lot, for fuck’s sake.

He just smirks with a raised eyebrow, the lust in his eyes crystal clear. “I think it’s time I get what I want,” he says.

You bite your lip, wanting him to hurry up and start touching you already. “What do you want, Bri?” you whisper, grabbing for one of his hands and dragging it up your bare leg.

But Brian withdraws his hand from your skin. “Naughty girls don’t get touched,” he scolds.

You huff in exasperation. “Please, Bri—”

He cuts you off. “No begging, that’s not gonna work on me.”

Fuck, he’s gonna drive you crazy. You huff again and slouch against the backrest of the seat, crossing your arms in frustration. _If he isn’t going to fucking touch me, what the hell was the point of getting into the backseat?_

Brian looks up at you with a self-satisfied sneer. He pulls himself up toward your face, bringing a gentle hand up to brush your cheek with his fingernails. “I won’t touch you, love, but I want you to touch yourself,” he whispers hoarsely into your ear. It sends an involuntary chill down your spine and toward your core.

“You…you want…” You flinch as Brian nips your ear gently, an unexpected action that makes you moan a little.

Brian traces your parted lips with a gentle thumb. “That’s right,” he says. “But you’re going to need to listen _very carefully_ to everything I say. Understand?”

You nod, gulping. Outside the car, you can hear the sounds of people chatting as they enter or leave the restaurant. _God, I hope no one tries to look through the windows of the car._

Brian settles back on the floor in front of your seat, sitting on his knees and resting his hands on his lap. Through the darkness, you can still see the clear outline of the bulge in his pants. And then he opens his mouth and instructs, very slowly: “I want you to slip your panties off.”

Your mouth goes dry, and you look down at Brian questioningly. He raises an eyebrow in a gesture that needs no words to say: “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

So you hook your thumbs on either side of your underwear and lift your hips to drag them down. The crotch clings to your wetness, and there’s a noticeable spot of moisture where it had seeped through. You shimmy the fabric down to your feet, and you’re about to kick it away when Brian seizes it for himself. He traces the mark of wetness and brings it to his face. You moan out a breathy sound as you watch the tip of his tongue taste your pleasure on the underwear. _Fuck_ , you want his tongue on you so badly.

“Sit back against the seat,” he tells you. You do. “Bring your left hand to your chest. That’s it. Now slip it beneath your neckline. I want you to feel your breast for me… Now, pinch your nipple. Is it nice and hard for me now?”

“Yes,” you say, your voice gravelly. Your back arches a little as the pinch reverberates down your torso. You feel so sensitive and _so impatient_ at the pace he’s making you go.

“I want you to put your other hand on your tummy. Good girl. Don’t you dare bring it lower yet,” he warns. You prickle at the word _yet._ “Good. Now I want you to show me your tit. Do you think you can pull it out to show me?”

You do, pulling down the neckline of your dress to show him your nipple. You’re not wearing a bra—you don’t need it for this kind of dress—and you very much enjoy the way Brian’s breath seems to catch in his throat as he sees you exposed like this. Brian’s hand on his lap seems to twitch almost imperceptibly toward his crotch.

“Good girl, Y/N. Fuck, you look so good. Show me your other breast now, too. Now pinch the nipple.”

You want so badly to move the hand on your stomach down between your legs. Instead, you clench your thighs together tightly, as you had done before. The movement is not lost on Brian. He growls and brings his hands to your knees, pulling them apart.

“I see what you’re trying to do there, little minx. That’s against my rules for this evening.” You sigh when he withdraws his hands from your knees, aching for their warmth against your skin again. But when he places his hands back on his lap, one of them rests on his bulge and rubs.

“That’s not fair,” you protest. “Why do you get to touch yourself and I don’t?”

Brian’s eyes narrow. “This is _my_ game,” he growls, low and dangerous. “Remember? _I_ decide what I want and how I want it. You want more later tonight? Then listen to everything I say, and _no talking back.”_

His words send goosebumps across your skin. You nod in acceptance, shivering at the cool air on your wet pussy.

Brian doesn’t say anything for more than a few seconds, and you get antsy, arching your back and pressing your fingers into the skin of your navel. “Please, Brian…” you whisper, biting your lip. “Please let me touch myself.”

Brian’s eyes grow glassy. Finally, he says, “Move your right hand down to rest over your bump. _No lower.”_ Every inch you move your hand closer feels hotter and hotter to the touch. You’re _so fucking close_ to the place you desperately need friction that you have to suppress a moan.

“Yes, good girl,” Brian says, and you can see the hand on his cock squeezing it tighter as he watches you. “Show me your index finger? Yes, I want you to get that finger nice and wet for me.”

You let out your moan then as you allow your finger to trace a line down your wetness and separate your folds. You’re absolutely dripping.

“Good, yes. Fuck, you’re so good. I want you to slip that finger inside of you, can you do that for me, Y/N?” Brian says, his voice growing tenser.

You whimper as you allow your finger to push past your folds and into you. It’s unbelievably slick and nearly pulsing with arousal. Brian curses and slips his own hand down the hem of his pants.

“Move your finger, Y/N. I want you to fuck yourself.”

You pull your finger out before slipping it back in, and you tilt your head back. You groan, bending and flexing the finger inside of you, desperate for more…for another finger, for friction against your clit, for Brian to just fucking touch you _anywhere._ So you push your finger inside as far as it will go. And then your thumb brushes up against your clit, and the incidental pressure feels so good, too good. You press your thumb in a circle, desperate to feed your desire for more.

But Brian misses nothing, and he firmly pries your thumb off of your clit. “No,” he says simply, “not yet.”

“Brian, please—”

“Do what I say, and only what I say.”

_Fuck._ You keep fingering yourself, allowing your fingertip to drag against every ridge inside of you. Each small wave of pleasure that courses through your body at the sensation bring about small moans from your lips. Brian’s having trouble holding back his own moans, now that his hand is in his pants. The idea that he’s pleasuring himself too makes you feel even wetter.

“Show me your finger,” Brian says. You pull out your index finger dazedly, and Brian grunts in approval at the glistening slick that coats it. Suddenly, he leans over to you and takes your finger in his hot mouth. Your mouth falls open in a cry of pleasure, rejoicing at the warmth of his tongue around your finger.

“Fuck, Brian,” you whisper. You _need_ him, more than you can express.

He releases your finger from his mouth with a _pop._ “God, you taste so good.”

“Please,” you mewl, not bothering to finish your plea. He knows what you want.

And you know he’s not about to give into you that easily. “You can touch your clit now, love.”

_Thank fucking god._ You don’t hesitate to drag your fingers—two this time—through your wetness again and back up to rest atop that bundle of nerves that so desperately needed movement. You start moving your fingers in quick circles.

“Slower,” Brian grunts.

You slow the movement into lazy, wide circles, biting your bottom lip between your lip. But you can’t hold back the moans for long, as much as you’d like to. You arch your back and keen, each circle bringing a wash of pleasure over your entire groan.

“Moan my name, baby,” you hear Brian say breathily.

“Brian,” you say in place of your next outcry. Your fingers move faster now; you almost can’t help it. The delectable peak of pleasure is fast-approaching, now, and as tangible and foreboding as a tsunami wave on a horizon.

“Y/N. Fuck, yes, baby, you look so fucking good.”

Tendrils of fire scorch your skin from your core outward, and you press your fingers more firmly into yourself, desperate for the flames to overtake you. You cry his name like a broken record; it’s beginning to become one of the few words you can remember.

“Brian, I—fuck, Brian, I need you—oh my god—”

Suddenly, Brian pulls your hand away in a single pull. You nearly shriek in protest, but he clamps another hand down on your mouth and shushes you. His eyes are wide as he gazes out the car’s window.

“Shit. Get down.”

He doesn’t wait for you to comply; he forces your shoulders down so you’re lying against the backseat bench instead of sitting upright. A voice from outside grows louder. _Someone must be coming._ Brian’s hand is still pressed against your mouth. You breathe heavily through your nose from how close your orgasm had been, and now your heart thuds even harder from fear of being caught.

“Keep quiet,” Brian hisses in your ear. He’s crouched next to you, and you hope he’s low enough to avoid being spotted if anyone tries to look inside. You can feel your pussy pulsing with pleasure, even though you’re no longer touching yourself. With an involuntary clinch of your walls, you hum out a moan, completely out of control of your body’s demand for release.

Footsteps outside draw nearer. “…Brian’s car,” someone says. You recognize the muffled voice as Roger’s.

“Wonder why he would park all the way over here?” says another voice; John’s.

“Well, if he’s parked, they’re here somewhere. But where?” Roger says.

“Maybe they’re inside and we missed them.”

Roger huffs a laugh. “Could be right. He’s probably shagging Y/N in the loo or something. Pretty little thing, isn’t she?”

“Roger, you’re engaged. You can’t say shit like that.”

“I just meant, she’s good for him. C’mon, let’s go barge in on them in the loo.”

Roger and John finally retreat. Brian heaves out a sigh beside you, finally releasing his clamp on your mouth.

“That was close,” you whisper.

“I’ll fucking murder him for saying that about you,” Brian growls. He’s still touching you, his hand clasped around yours from when he’d pulled it away, his chest pressed up against your side. You look over at him and realize his zipper is down, cock sprung out of his trousers in full. You bite your lip, desperate to finish what he’d had you start.

“Brian,” you plea, your voice high and breathy. “P—Please.”

He looks over at you and sweeps his eyes over the flushed skin of your cheeks and chest, and down to your inner thighs, where your dress is hiked up to your waist now, leaving nothing to his imagination. Your hips move up and down in involuntary thrusting movements, still high with pleasure.

It must be too much to resist. Brian leans into you and presses his mouth onto yours in a sloppy, wet kiss. His fingertips dig into your hips before moving to squeeze your inner thigh. You nearly sob at the feeling of him touching you so close to where you need it.

“Brian, fuck, I need you.”

“I know, baby.” And he pulls you up in a sitting position once again, before he repositions himself on the floor beneath you and between your opened legs, seemingly desperate to taste you. He nips twice at your inner thighs, one bite to each leg, before moving his mouth to rest against your sex.

_Holy fuck._ You cry out, arching your back and burying your hands in his curly hair. _Finally._ Brian’s tongue delves into your folds, lapping up all the wetness that’s been dripping out of you. He moans loudly at the taste of you on his tongue, and you swear at the sensation of his low voice as it vibrates against you. His skillful tongue envelops your clit, then, and the addictive assault of warmth takes you by surprise, as it always does.

He breaks away, only to lick his own ringed finger and watch as he pushes it into you. You see stars at the new sensation; Brian’s fingers are longer, thicker, and unbelievably more dexterous than you ever thought possible. He doesn’t move them at first, but just watches as you thrust your hips back and forth, fucking yourself with his fingers. Finally, he curves them upward toward your belly, and your back jolts into an arch at the sudden pleasure.

“Brian, I’m gonna—oh my god, _fuck,_ Brian, _Brian…”_ The whirling flames of pleasure approach fast and sure, and your breathing grows erratic. Brian watches you unravel before him, biting his lip, before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. His tongue circles you hard and fast. He inserts his middle finger inside you along with his index, curling the digits up into you over and over.

But what it is that finally pushes you over the edge is the sudden pressure of his other hand against your lower navel, pressing down firmly, almost as if he’s trying to press his fingers inside of you against as much of you as possible. And you come completely undone, the tendrils of fire overtaking your whole body. You arch your back and clench your walls around Brian’s fingers, unable to keep from screaming in pleasure or to keep your arms and legs from spasming.

It takes you several minutes to come down from your high. Aftershocks shake your body like electrocutions. You slump down against Brian’s backseat and moan, over and over; you couldn’t speak if you tried. Meanwhile, Brian kisses up and down your legs, waiting for you to recover.

“So much for not touching me,” you murmur. Brian laughs, the breath tickling your thighs.

“I can’t help myself when it comes to you,” he remarks.

“So you’re not really mad at me?”

Brian shakes his head and scoots his body so he’s closer to your face. He kisses your forehead. “No, dear. Definitely not. I just… I just wanted to test out a couple of things with you.”

“What do you mean?”

He traces little patterns on the skin of your chest. “I… I wanted to see if you like it when I act more dominant. I, um… I take it you do?”

You bite your lip and grin, sighing. “Yeah, I like it.” You like it more than you’d care to admit.

“And I like watching you get yourself off,” he admits. “I could watch you do it all day.”

“I prefer when it’s you getting me off,” you say.

He chuckles. “I also…” He runs a nervous hand through his hand. “I like the thrill of this. The thrill of almost being caught.”

“You do?”

“Fuck, yes. It’s just that much sexier.”

You smile lazily at him, shuddering as yet another aftershock of pleasure courses through your veins. “Then you can have me anywhere you’d like, Brian May.”

He moans in satisfaction. Then, you remember. “Wait a minute…” You glance down at his crotch. His cock is still out, exposed, and hard as ever. “Shit. Brian, you never…”

Brian shakes his head and smiles. “Don’t worry about me. I’m going to fucking devour you later, you know. It can wait.”

You reach a lazy hand down to his pulsing, pink member. He’s as hard as a metal rod; he grunts in response. “Sure doesn’t look like this can wait.”

“Fuck, Y/N…”

“We can definitely do that,” you grin, spreading your legs for him tauntingly. The backseat bench is narrowish, but certainly wide enough for him on top of you…

Brian curses as you move your thumb over his head, spreading the precum all over. “You’re positive.”

“Fuck me, Brian.”

That’s all Brian needed to pull his trousers down to his ankles and clamber on top of you, planting demanding kisses to your lips. He positions his cock at your entrance, coating himself in your slickness, which has since pooled in dripping amounts between your thighs from your orgasm.

“Holy shit,” Brian says. He’s hesitant, as always, your comfort his first priority. You claw at his back and trail your hands down his spine to rest against his ass, pulling his hips up toward your entrance encouragingly. It’s all the urging he needs. He tips his head back as he slides his cock past your folds, and pushes as deep into you as you’re able to take him. It’s unbelievably slick and yet, as always, a delightfully tight fit for Brian. A steady stream of curses escapes both your lips and his as he bottoms out.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby. _Fuck._ You’re so beautiful. You’re so _mine.”_

Brian slowly pulls out of you, withdrawing a gasp from your throat. The need to be filled by him manifests as an aching urge deep inside of your core. He fulfills that need with another thrust, this one harder and surer.

And then he’s moving, in and out, his hips crashing against yours with an alluring _smack_ each time. You moan, high and feminine, knowing he loves it while at the same time unable to help yourself at all.

“Yeah, Y/N, _fuck,”_ Brian says into the shell of your ear, low and husky. “You’re taking me so well. You like it when I fill you up, huh? You’re such a good girl.” It’s as if you’re practically witnessing his dominant side coming out again, and you whimper, letting him take control completely. Brian seizes your wrists and pins them down on the seat above your head. Each thrust rocks the car and ripples out through the curves of your body.

“Fuck me harder, Brian,” you demand, and he complies, slamming into you with a new vigor.

“I’m gonna cum,” he moans, his voice thick.

“Cum inside me,” you tell him.

“Fuck, I’m so close. I’m gonna fill you up with my cum, baby girl.” The hands on your wrists tighten, and his thrusts become more and more erratic. “Fuck, oh _fuck.”_

“Cum for me, Brian,” you coax. And it’s all he needed before orgasming with three final thrusts. You can feel his member pulse as he releases his cum inside of you. He collapses on top of you, panting and moaning. Hot wetness—yours and his—drips out of you. The tickling sensation of it running down your legs brings you closer and closer to another torrent of pleasure. You slip your hand from Brian’s grasp—easily now that he’s weakened—and bring your fingers to your clit. You rub yourself for just a few seconds before you’re cumming again, twisting and moaning and tensing around Brian, who’s still deep inside of you.

“I could feel that,” Brian remarks as you collapse in a heap beneath him.

“Brian,” you pant. “That was. Amazing.”

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so perfect. Oh my god.”

You lie there in silence, Brian still on top of you and inside of you, for a few minutes. You look at the fogged-up car windows and start laughing.

“What is it?” he asks.

“So much for Roger’s birthday dinner party, huh?”

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End file.
